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*Warning: salty language ahead.
I suffer from addiction. Not to alcohol. Not to drugs. Not to sex.
I am addicted to thoughts.
I am addicted to my past wounds and how they leak and what stories they play inside my mind, often.
I am addicted to outworn beliefs that keep following me as ghosts in the dark, in those forgotten places of my psyche when no one is watching me, but me. When I am on my period, this pain becomes more vivid, stronger, and hell gets loose inside my head.
I want to run away.
I want to escape my own prison.
I want to break the chains of insanity.
I want to just breath.
And sometimes I can’t.
Sometimes these episodes of seemingly silent depression seem so tense and so powerful, I dissolve into salty tears praying to the Mother of All (or God) to help me, to free me from my own mind.
When this time comes or when I’m stressed and overthinking any life situation, I become my own worst nightmare. A whole dramatic movie begins to write screenplays over my brain cells, and my mind’s chatter becomes becomes an ugly, perverted character I want to escape from. I feel like I’m possessed by some dark forces that won’t leave me alone.
Then I am reminded to focus on my breath and how precious it is. That’s the only thing that puts me to sleep sometimes. Or else I’m like a bat, flying between invisible dimensions of darkness and light. The mind is like a jungle, filled with little monkeys and oftentimes wild creatures. No matter what you are addicted to, addiction is an addiction, nonetheless.
I am not always in the grip of my depressive moods, I am generally a lighthearted, free spirit kind of human. I love to play, enjoy life in its simplicity, and in a minimalistic way. And I love to follow my highest passions that bring me excitement, expose me to myself and the world, and make me whole, in both my darkness and light.
But oh, our darkness is not as easy as it seems. It’s not easy to embrace our darkness especially when it becomes too loud and disrupts our daily activities. In whatever way it shows up, that darkness tends to make us isolate from others or hide our true thoughts and feelings. It makes us liars and cheaters to our own dear selves, and to others.
Those dark hours can make us disconnect when we crave to connect. In psychology, it is called “the shadow self.” And it is a concept one could create philosophies around. But that’s not its purpose.
Its purpose is to break you so fucking open from your head, to your chest and toes, so you can see your inner muddy waters and how you suffocate yourself in it, anytime something in you is triggered.
When our inner darkness begins to raise its head, we tend to run the fuck away, as far away as possible, but how far can we really go from ourselves? It’s just the mind fooling us again.
Even when we think it’s something or someone we want to run away from, the hard, bold truth is: we are trying to run away from our own mind. Period. For me, this truth has been the hardest to accept and allow to sink in.
It’s easier to blame our circumstances on other people we interact with, than look within to see what old past or present wound is being pulled up and brought to the surface. What dark side are we hiding from that part of our personality being triggered, what muddy waters are being tested, and what is happening to our inner, shaky confidence when all of this happens?
As an empath, and highly sensitive person with a past, personal, and family history of depression and panic attacks—the only thing that seems to help me understand my dark sides, my addictive thought patterns, and my distorted beliefs is being alone at the ocean or somewhere alone in nature. I crave hours or days to be alone, utterly alone, no distractions, no Instagram and Facebook, or other social communications.
It’s not always easy, but for me I need to create this alone space for myself, for days at a time if I need to. I need this to restore my lost inner balance and ground myself on my feet instead of in my head.
When my dark hours come to me as uninvited guests, first I try hard to cast them out, then I surrender to their presence and pray for help and guidance to navigate their territory into the unknown.
It scares the shit out of me sometimes, but this process brings me closer to my inner self. Exposing me to my own hidden shortcomings, flaws, wounds, brokenness, trust issues in my human interactions, and my deep trust issues in men—and also it brings me closer to my heart’s desires and biggest passions.
Another thing, apart from nature and being alone, that helps me face and navigate my inner shadows, is telling my story through writing. No matter if my mind resists telling that truth to myself, or publicly.
Sharing our true inner stories about our human condition and human experience takes balls. Because we don’t like or want to be seen as weak, vulnerable, or shitty. Guess what? It’s again just the mind’s belief that telling our stories will make us feel small or less by being seen as weak.
For our own good, let’s challenge these beliefs and share our stories anyway.
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